The mythology of equality

Recently I had a conversation with a good friend about dating and something he said struck a chord with me.

“…I’m looking for my equal.”

At face value, you might think, “Aww that’s sweet!”. And isn’t that what we’re all looking for at the end of the day? Someone to love who loves us? Someone to share every happiness with, to be supportive through every sadness?


With so many shouting equality these days, it begs the question of “why?’ Why are we so bent on being equal? Why do you want to be equal – the same – as anybody else, much less everybody else? Somewhere along the line, someone sold us a story about equality. And it sounded good.

But why?

It sounded good because it meant the end to feeling unrecognized, overlooked, underrepresented, underpaid…All the negative feelings we tie from (allow) exterior influences onto our own internal self-worth. While I don’t argue that there are cases where the fight may not be the same for one individual vs. another, I feel that the end goal is often the same. To be the best.

Who cares about being equal? Don’t we really want to be the best?

In career. In family. In friends. In life. Being the best is ingrained from an early age – some might say, an inherent need inherited from our ancestors, when being the best meant survival.

Now circle up. Back to the beginning, I proudly admit that I went after and married my best. Not my equal. Not my “good enough”. My Best.

The man who challenged me, pushed me (sometimes kicking and screaming) beyond my comfort zone to achieve things I only allowed my soul to whisper, barely audible, deep-deep-deep down in my heart. The one who made my stomach flutter. The one with whom I could barely contain a smile from the pride felt when he was by my side. The one who taught me I needn’t try to contain it.

When that man walked into my life, I didn’t think I’d found my equal. I knew I’d found my better half. And that’s what we should all strive for – our Better Half. That is what Mastermind Alliances are forged from, allowing each of us to achieve and continue to build then conquer or biggest dreams in pursuit of our best lives.

That, My Dear,  is worth looking for.

That’s what she said…

{Disclaimer: I still adore weddings and sparkles…and glitter that sparkles. I’ll still be using this platform to share my Robin Hooding adventures in wedding wonderfulness. But in the sake of efficiency…and sanity…decided why not use this little soap box for mixing business and pleasure?}

1:49 AM. Ping. My email proclaimed the announcement of the novella titled “Not My Job”.

First. Wow! After 5PM. Impressive, but maybe we should talk about balance…

Second. My response. After reconsidering my ridiculous request to go beyond the team’s automated processes (What.Was.I.Thinking.). I whole-heartedly agree. Please pack your things. A security member will escort you from the office.

Third. Oh how I wish I could hit reply. Must. Hit. Send. Delete.

Now in the bright hours of the morning, I allow myself a little self-indulge fest imagining this scene playing out. And I realize in this situation the only way I have to prevent rehashing these not my job scenes, is to make it MY JOB. In that I mean:

Marky Z - I'm CEO Bitches

“I’m CEO bitch”

Zuck style.

But all kidding aside these personalities make me sad. They have the ability to counter any positive, inspirational infusion in the workplace, and then some.

Coming off the Feb issue of Fast Company. A front to (flipped) back salute to the power of creative collaboration and investment. Filled with innovative, leading companies and team (can you imagine one of the founders of Facebook saying, “Sorry team. Not my job”?). I have to ask what do you risk by saying not my job.

What could you gain by making it so?

{I’m mobile kids. Play nice with the grammar police}

Not all those who wonder are lost

My mind is a wanderer. A wonderer.

They say it’s a symptom of our generation. A generation of entitlement. They say it like it’s a bad thing.

Is it bad to feel like there’s something more? Spoiled to think there might be a better way than “paying your dues”, “sticking with it”, “climbing the ladder”? What’s the risk in steering a new course?

What’s the risk of not?

So I dare say I’d rather be entitled. I’d rather dabble in my dreams. Chase the unknown. Fill my life with passion and wonder.

I’d rather pack up and follow my mind wherever it wanders.

And you?

thinky thinky thoughts and socialcide…you know the funecessities of life

Technology is my savior, but man is it trying its hardest to be the death of me.

Sometimes I miss the days of penmanship, lined paper and number 2 pencils.  I miss crayola crayons, more specifically the monster box with two rows of freshly wrapped colors of creativity.  And every year despite having a complete box, color coded, with about 30% of the crayons untouched, I needed a new box.  Ah the simple funecessities of life.

Now it’s Microsoft to the rescue of all of us we us poor grammar, spelling and penmanship handicapped fools.  It’s Facebook streaming stalker news of all of our friends, co-workers, family – raise of hands who else’s parents are

on The Facebook please – boyfriends/girlfriends, ex-friends, ex-boyfriends or girlfriends (or both) and totally random people who apparently went to the same school as us though we can’t remember them – from a class of 43.





Whoever decided it would be fun to have an open window into the happenings of ALL of these people’s daily status, pictures, hookups, drunken nights of debauchery and relationship break ups and makeups?  Really we should be able to organize our feeds: Friends, Family (Shh! Don’t share THAT or THAT), Random people who think we’re friends because they know one of my friends, Exes (AKA Facebook Marijuana – Gateway Drug to intense “Research”).


Of course I know I could always politely decline the massive over-share of information, but who are we kidding here?

So instead we commit socialcide of finding out information that really never would have been ours to know.  On with reading things that you used to find out from friends in person or at least from a phone call (oh hi I’M GETTING MARRIED….AND I’M PREGNANT! – Former Best Friend Feed).  And on and on with the social drug of choice.  Stalker Feed.  Funecessities.


Then there are those moments when there truly is something big.  And Something important.  And AND Sometime exciting.  Or Something devastating.  Something to share.  But here we are in this world of social feeds and sharing, struggling to remember how to communicate.  Trying to remember how to form a sentence.  To share something that actually matters, that grips our heart and soul.  That keeps us up at night with thoughts, and more thoughts, and thoughts that seem to never go away.  How do we share that news?  How do we comment to THAT news?

[Photo Credits: 1.) Facbook Poem – 9Gag 2.) Research –]

airplane etiquette…or lack of and a time to speak up

At what point did it start being okay for people to just lay diagonally in their seat on a fully packed airplane (AKA diagonally all over the people sitting on either side of them)?  I’m sorry did I miss the memo or did their mothers completely FAIL in her duty to teach them how not to be a horrible, inconsiderate person.  Maybe that’s a little dramatic, but seriously a five hour flight with a teenage boy draped over you isn’t that much fun…unless I guess you’re a cougar…

But in my five hours of “I’m going to drop kick you in the face if you put your elbow in my stomach one more time” running through my head I realized that part of my nun chuck to your head feelings may be of my own doing.  Looking back over the last week I may or may not have been a little on edge. I might have road raged on the car that interpreted merge to oncoming traffic as drive faster to try to cut into the tiny spot that person has between themselves and the car ahead.  I may or may not have visualized running over the teenage boys in neon vests trying to tell me where I can and cannot park at the grocery store.  But really just because you’re wearing a bright yellow vest, it doesn’t mean you get to put even further delay in my path to get dinner and get home after working all day.  And who decided that Safeway checkout boys have the authority to direct traffic in the parking lot anyway!?  But the point being I may have had a little stress and frustration building up.

And as I sat quietly contemplating the ways in which I could dislocate said airplane neighbor’s arms and tie them together in a manner that would ensure they stay within the barriers of his own seat, I realized that this wasn’t the first time in life I hold myself back.  And no, I don’t mean hold myself from committing aggravated assault on an airplane, I mean holding myself back from just telling him, “Listen, I know that you’re in full on teenage mode where you think you just have to lay out over all three seats to obtain the perfect “cool lounge” position, but do you think you could keep yourself from manhandling me for the next 4 hours.”  Or something a little more polite, but the point being I didn’t SAY anything.  I nudged.  I “ahem’d”.  I coughed.  I gave the evil, Asian death stare.  But I did not just SAY to move the %$#& off.

Which I now realize happens a lot in life.  I’m so afraid of coming off as a bitch or being judged that I often just keep things inside and LET things happen, rather than MAKE things happen.  Promotion?  What?  No, please just keep having me do 3 different roles without a promotion, raise or even acknowledgement that I’m saving you from having to hire more people.  And in relationships?  I’m a total case of dodge the confrontation.  But where has that gotten me?  Happy and fulfilled?  Or wishing death by nun chuck on teenage boys?

So the goal is to start talking the talk.  And maybe, just maybe, I can stop hating the existence of all teenage boys.  But seriously STOP telling me I can’t drive out that way!!!  THERE IS AN ARROW THAT SAYS OTHERWISE!!!